El Regreso de los Tres Caballeros!
by DDshoeshowz
Summary: The return of the Three Caballeros!


"Oh boy, oh boy." Donald studies his reflection in the mirror, readjusting his bowtie and smoothing down any few unruly feathers, "wait until Daisy sees this!" He held out – to an audience of no one – a (faux) diamond ring nestled in the comfort of a small velvet box. This small stone would be the key to her heart where his own faults had kept him locked out.

This night, however, would be different. Where she would think that tonight held only a lovely (candle-lit) dinner, he would keep his secret tour de force – his saving grace tucked neatly away in his pocket where its comforting weight would give his words the assurance they would surely need. And when he held it out, on one knee – her right hand in his left – she would say, "Oh yes, Donald! Of course I'll marry you!"

Donald paused with a comically odd expression implanting his features: his Daisy impression would have to be boned up. Later, though. She could be here at any moment now. He had asked her to arrive at six. Women were – of course – fashionably late and she hadn't shown for some time yet. However, Donald wasn't quite sure just how late one had to be for it to become fashionable but as the minute hand neared forty-five, he began to fret. Again he checked his appearance in the mirror: a suave, tailored, blue jacket – his best, a matching silk hat – plain save for the black band that ringed its circumference and shone dramatically under the right light, feathers coifed to a stylish tee – one that all the young ducks today were sporting, a bowtie prim (the polka dot or the plan? Aw, he hated making decisions), flowers – daisies of course – elbowing for room in one arm with a delicately arranged box of chocolates, the ring conspicuously bulging from his left pocket, and everything else neat and trim. He smiled – the last accessory to his overwhelmingly corny assemble and felt assured that nothing – positively nothing could go wrong with tonight's plans.

The door! He panicked, gnashing his bill nervously on overwrought fingers; what if she already was here? Had he heard the bell door ring? What if she were standing outside at this moment tapping her foot angrily on the concrete and vowing never to waste her time with that scoundrel Donald Duck again! What if? Oh what if!

Hurry! A faceless voice urged him. Hurry before it's too late!

He needn't be told twice. Or at all for that matter. With a zip, a blur, and a loss of quite a few loose feathers, he found the door, stopping just the moment before he were to crash headlong into it. Here he paused. This was the moment of truth. He would see her out there but he wouldn't be greeted with a pretty face. He thought – no _knew_ – that he would be met with only her dainty little feet disappearing from view; leaving that which had proved the night – and his hopes – false. The window man! The window! The voice pushed him onward. He couldn't, wouldn't. Never!…He peeked out.

Nothing.

Hmm, he never noticed that spot on the ceiling before. But he had all the time in the world to look at it now that his weak legs had given up on him in the thunderclap of relief steamrolling over him now. Here was good. He would wait out the rest of the night here until she came. Or until he could stand.

Ding-Dong!

Oh goodness gracious! Oh dear! Oh me oh my! Open the door! Again, that infallible voice. Go ahead…up on your feet now. Gather yourself, a deep breath, now. The doorknob, oh the chocolates! Musn't forget those!

Donald nodded adamantly in agreement.

Not too long there! Stick to the script!

Donald did just that, falling back on his many minutes of rehearsal, "Hiya, toots!" He tipped his hat back as he leaned forward in a chivalrous gesture.

Perfect! Okay now, good luck! You're going to need it.

Donald, through his many failed business forays learned that it was best to make a good first impression. This would be his greatest for the profit would not be in green but in blue; the blue eyes of the only duck of his heart.

"Hiya, toots!" He thrust his gifts out to open arms haphazardly in what he hoped was a fine display of enthusiasm and began to plant eager kisses up her arm as he had seen done in so many movies. Hopelessly he was a romantic, and just as ever he would stay one.

"_Calmate_! You are as they say, 'the wolf'."

What? That didn't sound like Daisy at all! And as far as Donald knew, she couldn't speak a lick of Spanish. Then it could only be…

"IS this how they greet in America? Or do you have the romance of a pretty girl tonight?" Another voice piped.

Oh me oh my! Not them! A firm but friendly slap below the neck brought him out of his amorous reverie and he sheepishly dropped the arm that he had moments before been romanticizing.

José retracted his arm to fret with a smoking cigar lilting from his beak, but without any air of anger or embarrassment. In fact, the whole thing had affected his suave manner not at all; serving only to highlight the blood that surfaced on Donald's reddening cheeks, "He will do, not so well with the chocolates, flowers, and _brindes._" José shrugged, leaning heavily on his ever-handy umbrella, "The girls," he sighed enchantedly, "The girls will think you are, how do you say, full of cheese?"

Panchito agreed exuberantly, going so far as to embrace Donald in a fiercely friendly _abrazo_, "We will help you _amigo_ཀ Do not be fearing."

By now they had entered the house - pushing the poor romanticist back from the door and further into the dining room where an elaborate display was set upon the table. This was bad. No not bad...he searched in his mind for the right words, but as always, they was slow to come; especially when dealing with the subject of women - this was _really_ bad. Terrible, even.

Quick! Get them out before its too late!

Yes, Donald agreed. This was the best course of action to take. He puffed his chest forward in a mighty display, pulled back his sleeves, and pulled down his silk hat over his brow which now sported an angry glare. He would get them out now, whatever it took.

But where were they?

A horrific, metallic bang. The kitchen! Quick!

And swift he was. So swift, in fact, that when he came upon the kitchen entrance in a short stop borne of surprise, he wavered back and forth on his feet like a top unscrewed.

"Oh Donald!" Panchito was at the head of the stove, a pot set ablaze in one hand. Apparently he had begun the stove with a shot from one of his pistols - hence the bang. Knowing this, however, didn't cause Donald to feel any better. In fact, it seemed to make him worsen; a red pallor was visibly rising in his face and if it weren't for the calamity currently taking place in the kitchen, it would seem almost possible to hear the sharp whine of hot steam hissing from his ears.

"You would join us? We are making _quesadillas_!" Panchito continued, drawing out that last word enticingly, "We will add a little spice, _especia_, to your night."

"I'll show you spice!" Donald charged headlong towards the Mexican rooster, flying into one of his familiar rages. As he neared, however, he fell and grabbed outward for any sort of purchase. There was none and he instead found himself flat on his back again - for the second time that night - with nothing but a bottle of Texan Bill's Red Hot Pepper Sauce (only the best in all the West) in his outstretched grasp.

"_Gracías, amgio!_" Pistoles began pouring the sauce heavily on the half-cooked quesadilla.

"No problem, chump." Donald replied, stunned on the floor. Oh no! His clothes! They would ruin on this dirty floor. He found his wits quick enough to jump up from his position and begin dusting himself off. A quick inspection and - phew - nothing damaged. Oh wait! There! With a quick flick of his tail, Donald removed the dark stain that had settled there.

He was suddenly jerked away when an arm looped through his settled akimbo, and pulled him to the far side of the kitchen, "_Pato Donald_-" José began thickly, his speech punctuated every so often by the practiced twist of the cigar stick in his beak; ash, intermittently, fell softly down and sullied the plain floor with a dull residue, "I will show this girl of yours true romance - she will have the stars in her eyes like the night that shines over Baía. And she will be _o seu amor_." He had laid an arm across Donald's shoulder and thrust an arm out as if laying out the scene in front of him. José the leaned heavily on his stiffly standing umbrella with the slight tilt of a self-satisfied smile, "I have recipe that will make her tongue dance like the rhythm of the _samba_. You will see."

Donald, blinking out of his anger, liked the sound of that. But what about the food that he had already prepared? He stared glumly at the lame assemble; pot roast with potatoes and greens; and the ever doctrinal bowl of fruit. Daisy wouldn't find anything romantic about such layman food. But this was his kitchen! And his house! Donald felt the anger returning. And he had cooked the meal himself!...On second thought, he sheepishly admitted, perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

Ding dong!

Goodness gracious, that must be Daisy! He grabbed the gifts and stole a quick glance at the wall clock. Seven o' six. Was the time fashionable or just stylish now? No! Don't think of that! She's waiting for you!

Yesiree she was. Donald couldn't help but notice (after peeking through the window pane) that that woman could make even the most mundane things look glamorous. Outside his door she was indeed tapping her foot - but without any discernable emotion (a good sign perhaps?). She wore a neat dress fashioned in a decidedly feminine pink pattern. High-heeled shoes tightly clenched her feet and a prim bow completed the look. He sighed, even if she were to appear at his house in rags he would still find her gorgeous.

No time for daydreaming! Open the door.

And just that he did.

"Donald!" She entered in a feminine flurry of excitement and with the impression of gossip just on the tip of her tongue. Not to mention the gaze ever ready to lap up new, juicy gossip.

"Hiya, toots!" Donald stuck to the script, tipping his silk hat forward.

"Oh, come here you corny little dolt!" Daisy picked up on his palatable excitement. Of course, in her own unique way.

"I'm glad to see you too," Donald gasped in her surprisingly strong grasp.

"Are these for me?" She released him to crumple in a heap upon the floor, "You shouldn't have!"

As her attention diverted to the gifts in hand, Donald, as best as he could in his current position, held out the flowers and chocolates in an outstretched grip.

"Oh, really...you shouldn't have," she repeated again, this time with quite a bit less enthusiasm as the flowers wilted in her hand and the chocolates - upon opening the box - appeared not quite so appetizing as she had hoped. They had not fared the robust activities of the day's recently past events that well.

Bang! Crash! Zoom!

"What was that?" She asked, readily discarding the gifts.

"Uh...nothing!" Donald collected himself, "I'll just check on dinner real quick. Don't leave from this spot!" He tried to emphasize the special importance of that last request.

Again, he found himself in the kitchen. But this time he was prepared. Donning a pot as if it were not a cheap household item he had found at a yard sale but a grand wartime army helmet, he whisked away his Latin American friends from their on goings and out the kitchen door. Just in time too for Panchito had finished his monstrosity and was just about to celebrate in the only way he knew how; drawing out his pistols when Donald entered the room.

"Out! Out!" He urged ignoring their protests to "join us _amigo_" and the enticement of a romantic meal that would far outstrip his own. To this, he pushed both of them in the nearest closet and slammed the door, locking it. The last he saw of them was Panchito draped in a large overcoat with a look of surprised amusement on his face and Carioca sucking distastefully on his cigar. There lay a moment of silence. Then, muffled, "That Donald. He is a wolf in ducks' clothing. No?"

"What was that?" Daisy's foot was set tapping again. This time to a much less congenial beat.

"Oh, nothing!" Donald hoped that she would not puck up on his obvious display of wracked nerves - the sweat seemed to literally leap off of him as he ran about hastily, "Why don't you just sit yourself down at the table? I'll get the food." He forcibly placed her in a seat before humming off.

Oven mitts in hand, he whistled the rhythm of a catchy tune and slowed his pace to such so as not to drop or bring any other such calamity to his steaming pot roast. It would have to do...yet - José _had_ left that neatly folded recipe on that card right over there - no! He had made this dish with his own two wings and it was _this_ dish that they would eat. Besides, if Daisy did like it, she would think of what a great cook he would be when - when...if she said yes.

"Donald?" Her call sang sweetly through the room, but not without an obvious hint of urgency.

"I'm coming sweetums!" He called back in a sing-song voice. Well, as sing-song as he could ever get.

"No, no! _Señor_! That will never do." Donald suffered the blow of a harsh slap on the back and the worrying struggle with gravity for his meal, "Where is the spice? Where is the romance? I am sorry but no romance, _mi amigo_, no _chicas_."

Donald crumpled forward, eyes closed; half protecting his dish from further bother, half hoping that he wouldn't have to turn around and see who he thought he would. He did however, and was rewarded expectedly.

Ever as cheery, Pistoles was already looting for the hot sauce.

"How...,"Donald was afraid to ask, "how did you get out?"

"Aha! If I told you, it wouldn't be being a secret of mine, now would it?"

"No...," Donald contemplated upon such logic, bouncing a finger off his chin with the effort of such thought.

"Ha! So you must agree - "Panchito procured the Mexican sauce with a sly smile on his face, "that this food _¡está blancha!_ I will help you, my friend." With an expert flick of his wrist, he began to douse the dish with an upward twist of the bottle.

Or, at least he thought he did. Donald had begun to catch his wits around this pair of Latin _amigos_ and pulled the roast away before certain death. It was safe for now but most certainly would not be if he continued to stick around. Or rather, more accurately, if he let those two stick around. Grabbing Pistoles by the pistoles and rounding up José who had contented himself with smogging up the entrance room, he now forced both outside. He felt assured - after locking the door - that they would no longer prove a bother.

The food, man! The food!

He nearly forgot! It would surely be getting cold by now. And Daisy! Oh goodness gracious! Oh fiddles on a stick! Tonight, alas, would prove to be a damage control operation. Not that these never were but from now on he would have to be extra careful.

"Sorry toots!" He squawked as he entered the dining room. Daisy felt validated, still, in her sulky mannerisms; never giving up the air that she may just have some superior plans to attend if the current situation stood to be any more troublesome. The candles were burned down low as they sat in their melted wax thrones that dribbled a far traverse across the table. The appetizers set out primly in the household's best chinaware, untouched, looked not quite so appetizing as they may have once been. This was the tipping point. Not impossible. But this situation certainly wouldn't be easy.

With unusual grace, Donald set the oversize tray he had been balancing precariously in one arm and the hearty bottle of wine he had picked up along the way to the table. He uncorked the bottle, luxuriously pouring its contents into two clear wine glasses. Zipping to his seat, he just barely prevented himself from sitting down before whizzing to the light switch - mellowing the mood - then whooshing back to his seat again. He had misjudged, however, as the room lay in a pitch of darkness. No bother though; he merely relight the long-cold candles, clumping the melted wax into one large makeshift construct that cast a decidedly warm tone upon the room. There; now despite however the food tasted it at least looked grand.

Donald stared passionately into his lover's eyes, wishing that pure enthusiasm would win over her locked heart. Encouraged when she showed no sign of aversion, he cupper her hand in his own soft grip.

Rumble!

Donald peered down at the source of the noise. He must have been hungrier than he thought, "I'm starving!" He dropped all sense of previous romantic pretense, "Let dig in toots!" With a complete lack of self-consciousness he began to do just that; carving holes through the meat and digging throughways in the rest with the self-appointed grace of a bachelor accustomed.

"Eh-hem." Daisy was many things but pleased was most certainly not one of them right now.

"Oh, sorry." Donald sheepishly set down his utensils. Then quick as flint he slapped his hands together, stumbled through grace, and then returned to his feasting.

"Donald..." she sighed. Then a decidedly odd expression overcame her face and she intruded upon Donald's reverie to ask, "Do you hear that? It sounds like - like music."

"Music?" Donald paused. A thought - a horrible thought overtook him then and he leaped mightily into the air with the very terribleness of it, "Don't tell me its - "

Oh! But it was! Music eddied through the air just outside the window for two _caballeros _were involved in a sweet serenade; not to any girl but to that transcendently romantic land known as Mexico. José was strumming his umbrella in the fashion of a stringed guitar. Indeed, sweet music reverberated from within its depths. Pistoles, in his own predictable fashion, was perched atop a white fence caught in the verbal ecstatic throes of the song, one arm held abreast;

Mexicanos, al grito de guerra

El acero aprestad y el bridón;

y retiemble en sus centros la tierra

Al sonoro rugir del cañón.

Odd...Panchito held an obvious love for his country, but José - a _carioca _- seemed to have no special love for the place. Wait! What was he thinking? IF they continued singing like this they could distract from his plans and then he'd never have time to show Daisy the ring, to ask her the question.

Go! Go now!

He needed no further urging knowing just what to do, "Cut that racket out!" Procuring a black leather shoe he left no room for argument as he chucked it heavily at the two and made a show of closing the blinds.

"What was that?" Daisy's inquiring, sing-song voice rang shrilly.

"Oh, nothing." Donald hurried back to his post, tearing down in a dust-cloud of apprehension.

Before things were allowed to worsen, Donald felt it best to proceed with the plans. The very thought of implementing such plans, however, caused him to begin sweating profusely. Grabbing hold of his collar (my it was hot in here!) and swallowing the large lump that had situated itself in his throat, he began, "Uhm...Daisy," he quacked, "I have something to tell you."

"Yes-?" She leaned heavily on the table, the batting of her eyes and luxurious stare indulgent in their gestures.

"I - " whistling, high and wolfish pierced any further procession of his courting. This he could not allow! This - this was beyond reproach! And he had a good idea of just who had interrupted him and begun this war.

Stalking up to the window - this time a heavier shoe in hand - he wound up his throwing arm in preparation. The last shoe must not have been enough for the two birds outside now, whistling devilishly and indulging in other lewd rowdiness. Typical, expected of the two; but tonight: unacceptable. The shoe sailed through the night air. Donald didn't wait to see if it hit it's intended target; he had a date to attend to.

"Donald," she admonished, as he returned daintily to his seat, "stop playing games."

He wilted at the sight of her wagging finger, "No I...," he paused, realizing that such efforts were wasted, "let's turn on some music, okay?" The mood was in dire need of lightening.

As the music played softly behind, Donald relaxed into his role and began sweetly, "Daisy...," he purred - she lapped It up all too eagerly, "what I wanted to say - what I've always wanted to say is WAK!"

Donald considered himself a reserved person - well, not quite reserved. But reasonable; reasonably angry when times called for it, anyway. Now however, he was murderous. The radio - horribly - was spewing out that terrible tune; the one that he wished not to squeeze from any remnant memory:

We're three caballeros

Three gay caballeros

They say we are birds of a feather

We're happy amigos

No matter where he goes

The one, two, and three goes

We're always together

Augh! And down his first went. Graw! And across the room the cogs flew. Ack! And the music stilled.

Donald snorted, the anger coursing visibly through his icy eyes - the intensity of their stare making the possibility of him sprouting horns right then and there all that more likely. However, just as quick as the fury came it ebbed too. As the blood cooled he blushed, unable to look at his love straight. He smiled sheepishly and began, "They overplay that song anyway."

Daisy's patience however did not spread thick, "I'm getting sick and tired of these games, Donald!" She sat up sharply, "What is it that you need to say?"

"I - "

Ding-dong!

Yes! Glad for the distraction but - No! Not again! "Daisy don't!" He lunged towards the door but she had already opened it, a very surprised look plastered on her ace.

A present. There lay a present on the front step wrapped all neat and prim; a sultry little bow sitting neatly on top. It seemed vaguely, oddly, familiar. A tag lay tucked on the side but this was overlooked in the excitement, "For me?" Daisy grabbed the box enthusiastically and took the whole thing inside.

"No, no - " Donald began.

"Oh, you shouldn't have." Daisy pecked him on the cheek; always happy when she could benefit out of even the worst dates.

"Well..." Donald smiled dopily - willing for now to accept any other surprises that may pop up at his door.

Making herself comfortable on the living room couch, Daisy insisted, "Let's do it together." She had one ribbon already pinched between two fingers in thinly concealed anticipation.

Donald needed no further urging, "Alright, toots!"

They first began slowly, eyes both on the prize. But as their euphoria increased, they worked at it faster - gasping, sucking air in and out as they neared the end. Then suddenly, wonderfully, there was an explosion of confetti; a climax as the contents burst forth, and a shower of excitement and pleasure as both released breath they hadn't even know was kept baited. As they lay amongst the products of their work, they felt oddly exhausted. They glanced at one another - red color rising to their cheeks; it had been gotten through together and that, at least, both could appreciate.

All around them lay items of a Mexican or South American flair. Piñatas, sombreros, dolls and playthings, patterned woven reeds and colors bright, energetic, everywhere lay strewn about. Donald had not doubt as to where and _whom_ these had come from.

"How delightful!" Daisy began. However, upon plucking the tag and glancing quickly at the scrawl written upon it, she handed the thing distastefully aloft for Donald to retrieve, "Oh...it seems to be for you." She began with little hesitation to make her way to the door; nothing left for her here, "I'll just come back later when I see you're not so busy."

"But! No - Daisy!" Donald, dejected; standing in the door frame way as the click of her heels disappeared into the mute night.

The buzz of bleating movement, gunshots, and Latin-infused cries soon replaced the silence, "Donald, you do not so well with the girls, eh?" José - the horrible thing that he was - put an arm good-naturedly around his friend. Donald blew the puffs of smoke away hazing his vision, "You, uh, how do they say, not look so well." José took notice as Donald's complexion became ever redder.

Panchito, for once without a word sideways, pulled away his Portuguese companion as an eruption - great and wholly unintelligible - wrent apart any previous composure Donald may have once had. Panchito Pistoles, though, was not a rooster to sit by idly and let someone else take the spotlight. No, he was a bird of action. And so, as Donald began pulling up his sleeves in preparation for a fight, Panchito whisked him aside in a dominantly congenial manner, "Oh no, no _mi amigo!_ You are forgetting." He pulled from beneath his own _sombrero_ a large Mexican hat and tossed it neatly upon the duck's head. Panchito drew the other two close - Donald unwilling but far too dazed, "We are _los tres_ _caballeros_. Together until the end!"

Donald, hiccuping due to the tears in his eye - nodded to the gunshot sounds of the other two's reverie, "Until the end."


End file.
